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The waiting game isn’t a game. There’s no fun in it—perceived, delayed, hidden, or otherwise. It would be more apropos to call it the waiting hell. That way, the end result isn’t sugarcoated and we can be on our way to Fruitlesshire or Hopelessburg.
When I got my Captain Obvious handbook, it says right on the second page, “much of human life is lost in waiting.” Of course, some know-it-all twat will tell you that I have just paraphrased Ralph Waldo Emerson. To which I say, “Suck it. I have been fending off plagiarism lawsuits left and right, and I don’t really have time for twattery.”
So now, you’re on to the third paragraph, and you’re waiting for this thing to get to the point, which ironically is the point. There’s no point in waiting, and I have just used the word point three times in one paragraph, which basically renders the term “point,” meaningless. See what I mean? Waiting is to useless as jackknifing is to space monkeys. It makes no sense, ergo, don’t wait anymore for this post to have a conclusion.
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